The tower stairs burn beneath my feet, each step upward feeling like descent into something inevitable. Blood still clings to my dress, to my skin, to the spaces beneath my fingernails where I tried to scrub it away.
But some stains settle deeper than flesh.
He stands at the window, shoulders rigid, hands gripping stone until hairline cracks spider beneath his fingers. The room reeks of copper and death, the pomegranate wine untouched on his desk like a surrender he won't accept.
"You should not have come." His voice scrapes raw, without turning.
"I wanted to come."
"No." The word drops like a stone. "Leave. Now."
"I needed to see if you—"
"Get out." He turns finally, eyes black as void, veins still visible beneath skin that hasn't recovered from the feeding. "Do you not understand? Leave this tower. Leave me be."
I step further into the room instead, closing the door behind me.
"You're trembling from the blood. Too much after so much denial. Your body doesn't know how to—"
"I said get out!" The roar shakes dust from ancient rafters. "That is an order from your lord husband. Go back to your chambers where you belong. Go!"
"No."
"Rosalind—"
"No, Dorian."
He moves toward me with predatory intent, stopping inches away, towering. "You will leave. NOW."
"You cannot force me away."
"I am the master of this house! You are—"
"Your wife." I meet his wild gaze without flinching. "I will not go."
"Leave!" His hand slams against the door beside my head, wood splintering. "I want you gone! I want to never see you near me! Get out!"
"No."
"Please." The word breaks from him, desperate now. "Isab— Rosalind. Please go."
"No."
"You're not listening to me."
"I am." I step closer, close enough to feel the tremors running through him. "I have heard that you wish I hadn't come. That you want me to go. That you never want to see me here."
"Then why—"
"What I have not heard," I continue, my voice steady despite my racing pulse, "is why you're truly afraid."
His jaw clenches. "I'm not afraid."
"I have been watching you destroy yourself. Alone. Drowning in that poison wine because you believe you're too monstrous to exist without it. And then tonight, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps there is another reason. A better reason."
"Stop."
"Perhaps you stay away from me, push me away, threaten me—because you care what happens to me."
"I'm trying to protect you." The admission tears from him.
"From what?"
"From me! From this!" He gestures at himself, at the blood still staining his clothes. "I cannot— We cannot… This conversation is—"
"From what, Dorian?"
"I never wanted this. Never wanted to need—" He stops, jaw working. "Rosalind. Please, stop."
"Is it because you don't believe I could survive you? I can. I have been."
"I am a monster!" The words explode from him. "I am what darkness dreams of. In my mind, there are hungers you cannot imagine. The need to drain, to possess, to destroy. When I look at you, I see… I see your throat opening beneath my teeth. I see your blood painting these walls. I do not know where the man ends and the monster begins anymore."
"Then let me tell you." I reach up, my hand finding his face despite his flinch. "Let me stand between the monster and the man. Let me show you where you are."
"You do not want this life with me!"
"Don't I?"
"No one would want this! No one could—"
"I'm here, aren't I?" My other hand comes up, framing his face. "After everything, I climbed these stairs. I came to you."
"Why?" The question breaks from him like a sob. "Why would you—"
"Because from the moment I saw you standing in that ballroom, I have been caught. I cannot breathe right when you're not near. My pulse changes when you enter a room. I hate you and need you and—"
He jerks away, moving to the window with inhuman speed. "Don't. Don't say things you'll regret when the horror of tonight settles."
I follow him, my hand finding his arm. "Dorian."
"I wanted to tell you," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "Wanted you to know why I drink the wine. This... hunger has been my burden my entire life. This darkness is all I am. All I've ever been."
"No." I move between him and the window, forcing him to look at me. "You're more than that."
"How can you say that? After tonight—"
"After tonight, I understand. You killed them because someone tried to take what's yours. But you stopped yourself from killing me, even when the hunger must have been screaming for it."
His hands come up, gripping my arms hard enough to bruise. "I wanted to. God, I wanted to drain you right there among the corpses. The only thing that stopped me was—"
"What?"
"You." He lets the word fall. "The way you looked at me with... understanding."
"Because I do understand." I lean closer, feeling his trembling worsen. "It's you and me, Dorian. Whatever this is, whatever we're becoming—we face it together."
"You don't know what you're saying."
"Don't I?" My hands cover his where they grip my arms. "You think I don't feel it? This thing between us that's not love but something even more honest?"
He releases me abruptly, backing away. "You should fear me."
"I should do many things." I follow him, relentless. "I should hate you for keeping me prisoner. I should mourn those rebels. I should want to escape."
"But?"
"But instead I'm here. Trying to keep you from drowning in guilt and wine." I stop just out of reach. "I understand you. Accept you. Maybe even—"
He moves too fast to track, suddenly pressed against me, backing me against the wall. "Don't say it. Whatever word you're about to use, don't."
"Why?"
"Because if you name it, it becomes real. And real things can be destroyed." His forehead drops to rest against mine. "I can't lose another—I can't."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I know I'm not going anywhere." My hands find his face again. "I know we're both trapped in this horror together. I know that tonight, when I had to choose where to go, I chose to come to you."
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and something shifts in his expression—the monster retreating, leaving just the man. Exhausted, haunted, but present.
"The hunger will return," he warns.
"I know."
"I'll want to drain you again."
"I know."
"This doesn't end well. Stories like ours never do."
"I know." I pull him down until our foreheads touch again. "But it doesn't end tonight."
His arms come around me then, holding on like I might disappear. I feel him shake with something that might be relief or grief or both.
"My heart calls your name," he whispers against my hair, so quiet I almost miss it. "Even when I wish it would stop."